Gary J. Mihalik

I grew up with the legacy of my grandmother’s cooking. A child of four when her parents moved to the United States, Angelina DeRosa, learned to prepare superb southern Italian food from her mother. She was known throughout the neighborhood as an excellent cook. Though my grandmother and grandfather had six children, on any given night she could have been cooking for many more people—friends, relatives, and, as the years went on, sons- and daughters-in-law. Finally grandchildren were added to the mix. I was two years old when she died. So, you see, I never really knew her. But in a sense, I do. What makes her real for me are the stories I grew up with—often centering on food—and her recipes. Every time I cook something that I learned from my mother who learned it from her mother, the connection is there. Angelina’s recipes form the core of my cooking. They are among the first recipes I learned to cook. Cooking, eating, entertaining around a table-full of food, making conversation over coffee and cannoli—each of these is a connection to my family and my heritage.